


Drifting

by thebrightestcolours



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:03:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrightestcolours/pseuds/thebrightestcolours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep doesn't come easily to Daryl Dixon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> Set early Season 3.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to Daryl Dixon.

The rough sheets of the tattered old prison mattress scratch into his skin as he lays on his back. His limbs ache from a day of stalking through the woods hunting big game. There’s enough food at the prison to last the entire group a lifetime and then some, but a tin of canned peaches doesn’t come close to the fulfilment of fresh meat. Besides, Daryl prefers to spend his days free to roam in the wilderness rather than cooped up in the safety of the prison. He enjoys the freedom. He almost always meets the occasional walker while out tracking but aiming a bolt through their skulls has become such an innate reaction that the surge of adrenaline through his tired body at the sight of the decaying flesh almost seems redundant.

It’s not his protesting body though that keeps Daryl awake in his cell at night, but the thoughts in his head. They swirl through his brain and manipulate his mind and effectively keep the lure of sleep at bay.

Daryl thinks of Merle first. He always does. Daryl knows his big brother is still alive, he’s never questioned it. Even minus one hand he knows Merle is just too damn tough and too damn stubborn to get himself killed. Daryl wonders if Merle is out there somewhere alone, crushing the skulls of every walker that crosses his path like he’s the last man standing. Merle’s never needed a reason to fight and neither has Daryl; it’s just crucial when you’re a Dixon. Daryl doesn’t think too long on that.

His next thought is maybe Merle’s found a new group, but if so, what kind of group would accept Merle Dixon? Daryl knows his own group only took him and his brother in to start because they were bringing food with them. He’s not sure how well Merle could hunt, skin and gut an animal one-handed. There are other types of groups out there, though. A shiver runs down Daryl’s spine as he remembers bloodying his knuckles on that kid Randall’s face to uncover the kind of group he came from.

He doesn’t worry that Merle couldn’t handle himself in a group like Randall’s, quite the opposite actually. Daryl remembers Merle’s group of friends when he was a scrawny, scared little kid and Merle was a burly teenager. He remembers the looks they’d give any pretty girl that walked by and the abuse they’d hurl at the Asian family that moved in down the street. He remembers the things they’d say, and even worse, the things they’d _do_. He remembers why Merle got sent to juvie the second time. Daryl replays the memory in his head, still so clear to this day: Merle bursting through their bedroom door with bloody fists; Merle hiding his knife under the bed; Merle smelling like petrol…Daryl feels the bile rise in his throat and changes the path of his thoughts again.

Daryl knows he has a lot of reasons to hate his brother but despite them all, he never will. Merle is the reason Daryl is still alive several times over and long before the world went to shit too. Daryl thinks of all of the ways in which his brother has raised him, taught him, helped him…saved him. A fierce feeling of loyalty to his brother surges through him and he has to breathe deeply for several seconds to settle his racing heart. He knows that if Merle were to walk through the gates of the prison and demand Daryl leave with him, Daryl would go.

The thing is, he’s not entirely sure he would _want_  to. Daryl’s whole life before the dead started rising revolved around one decision: stand by Merle’s side or stand alone. Merle always seemed like the better option. But since the dead began chewing on the living Daryl’s options have changed.

His thoughts turn to the group of survivors he currently inhabits the prison with: Rick, Carl, Lil’ Asskicker, Carol, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Beth. They’re mismatched, odd and Daryl knows that in the old world they wouldn’t have granted each other a second glance. But somehow, against all the odds, his group have accepted one another, they’ve accepted him and they’ve become a family.

_Family_. The word rings through Daryl’s head like someone’s yelling it in his ear. Daryl has known his whole life that blood doesn’t make you family. It’s all the other stuff that clinches it.

He thinks about how his newly acquired, end of the world family need him: for protection; for food; for strength in numbers, and it sparks a funny feeling inside Daryl as he lays on his prison bed that he can’t quite put a name to. It’s a feeling he gets when Rick looks to him while making a difficult decision, like he needs to know that Daryl has his back. Daryl always does. He always returns Rick’s questioning glances with a nod and Rick continues on with a new confidence in his decision. All Daryl knows is that it somehow feels good to be needed, like he might actually be worth something for once. Daryl’s fingers twitch on his stomach as he fights a nervous urge to chew on his thumbnail at the thought. Feeling good about himself is something Daryl’s still struggling to get used to.

There’s something else about being a part of this family, though, that gives way to a feeling Daryl’s even more unsure about. These people, his people, they don’t just need him, they _want_  him. Daryl feels it in the joy on Carl’s face as Daryl teaches him some tracking and hunting skills. He feels it in Rick’s trusting eyes and gentle squeezes to his shoulder as they go on runs for supplies. He feels it in Carol’s genuine smile as she serves him breakfast and Hershel’s gratitude to Daryl for returning with food from hunts. Daryl feels it in the easy jokes he shares with Glenn and Maggie and the look in Beth’s eyes as Lil’ Asskicker squeals in delight in her arms at the sight of him.

As he replays these memories in his head Daryl’s chest begins to swell with this feeling. His heart beats double time and the feeling burns through his body as it spreads from his chest. It’s overwhelming as it courses through Daryl’s blood all the way to the top of his head, the tips of his toes and everywhere in between. He’s breathing heavily and his whole body is tingling.

Daryl thinks hard on this feeling. As his breathing softens and his heart slows leaving a pleasant warmth in his chest, Daryl thinks he might finally have a name for it. He thinks it might be love.

And it’s on that thought that Daryl Dixon finally drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I was just experimenting with being in Daryl's head. Next time I'll write something with a plot, I promise :)


End file.
